to the gentleman in the Target parking lot ...

Last week I finally made my first sojourn out of house with all five of my kids by myself since my youngest was born seven weeks ago. I was nervous not because I knew the logistics would be a nightmare with the baby's unpredictable crying, the three-year-old's affinity for bolting, the four-year-old's affection for camping out in the dollar spot making sure she asks for ALL the sparkly things for her birthday, and the two year old's newfound love for walking and not riding despite the fact that he is thee slowest walker of all time.  He doesn't walk. He lollygags, at best. But no, I wasn't nervous about any of that ... I was nervous about the stares and the inevitable and understandable comments.

And ... I wasn't disappointed! You were the first fellow Target patron we encountered walking into the store and you gave us a no-blink stare, a look of disgust, and let out a nice loud, "Jesus CHRIST!" and maybe you had felt called to bust out in spontaneous prayer at that very moment but I doubt it.

The one-year-old doubts it too.

I get it. Totally. We rival even the most spectacular three ring circus and if you had followed us through the store you may have had a few more choice words to chuck in our direction because it is crazy. Completely crazy. It's not doing anyone any favors to pretend that it's not. Some hours feel barely manageable just like they did when I had "just" one child (air quotes because ... the first baby .... no matter how easygoing and wonderful is still tough and a huge adjustment), two kids, three kids, four kids, and now five - and taking the crew out in public seems to exponentially magnify the insanity. So, it goes without saying that if you had followed us home and hung out for a few hours ... you would've been overwhelmed and maybe helped yourself to a stiff drink because sometimes everyone needs something urgent at the exact same moment. No one's skill set is loaded with a fat vat of patience, especially my own, and every morning ushers in another day peppered with chaos and crying.

Usually, not mine. Usually. 

But Mr. Prayer Warrior, you would've also gotten a peek into the occasional sweetness that dots every one of our days. You would've seen the two-year-old running to grab the two-month-old's paci (or maybe you prefer, "binky" ... to each their own!) because he sees I'm busy changing the one-year-old's diaper. You would've seen the three-year-old messily pouring half of his smoothie into the two-year-old's glass because what he lacks in walking speed he makes up for in smoothie speed chugging skills.

You would've seen the four-year-old offering to hold the baby so that I could get her, "just four or maybe a few more?" chocolate chips because selflessness runs in the family, and you would've seen the one-year-old loudly demanding to hold the baby so that she might pet his head semi-gently and kiss him 1.5 times before growing bored with her lap puppy.

You would've seen all of that alongside some tantrums and nap boycotting going down in an impressively messy house. I see it and hear it and am overwhelmed by it too.

But, not only do I take the good with all of the various and frustrating bad but I choose to decide that all of the sweet and the good absolutely outweighs all of the unpredictable bad. All of it.

Every single day.


Sincerely,

Crazy lady wearing one plastic pearl earring swimming in her own flesh and offspring walking into Target last Thursday morning